5 Book(s) Related to bynees

Sure, I can rock a tank top and ponytail while collecting ancient relics, but don’t call me a tomb raider. I knew the guy who built the pyramids… and I mean in the biblical sense.   Archaeologist, fashionista, and an ancient immortal with a serious memory problem, Dr. Nia Rivers has spent the last few centuries filling in the blanks of her past, all while outrunning dark assassins and stealing brief moments alone with Zane, her immortal lover.   But when a two-thousand year old relic from her past resurfaces, Nia isn't sure if the story connected to it is one she wants told to the world. The fact that Tres Mohandis, a fellow immortal and Nia’s greatest rival, is determined to develop the land and bury the site before Nia can excavate it suggests some dark history lies hidden in the site. Worse, Nia is beginning to realize that she doesn’t dislike the broody billionaire land developer as much as she remembers.    Letting Tres have his way might be best for Nia, especially when the truth might expose a horrific crime from Nia's past—one with her name written all over it. But don’t all stories deserve to be told? Even the ugliest ones.   Even if it proves she’s not at all who she thinks she is.   Get this hot urban fantasy featuring spine-tingling adventure, twists on historical mysteries, and thrilling romance, where Tomb Raider meets Indiana Jones—and they live forever!

Short Copywriting:
Lily couldn't stop others from hurting her unborn child.
Just because she is the daughter of a nanny, and she fell in love with the young master who is beyond her reach.
When she felt his tenderness, she could even abandon her dignity as long as she could stay with him.
But what she didn't expect was that the man she loved deeply asked her to donate a kidney for saving his ex-girlfriend while she had pregnant for eight months!
"You’d better leave after the operation." He said coldly.
"Why? I love you so deeply, but why do you want me and our child dead?"

I was the best student, the most obedient, the most compliant—yet the only unloved child in our family.

When my brother got into fights, I took his punishment. When my sister snuck out with boys, I bore the consequences. Mom force-fed me pills and made me get my stomach pumped just to scare my brother away from smoking. Dad dressed ten-year-old me like a prostitute and threw me into a bar to warn my sister against going astray.

In the end, they sold me to a gambler for a few hundred dollars.

I died in a dark pond, and no one heard me calling for help.

But when my spirit drifted home, they were gathered around the dinner table, laughing and talking as if nothing was wrong.

It wasn't until the police knocked on their door that they realized—I had been missing for seven whole days.

Later, my brother clutched the chocolate he never got to give me, crying every day. My sister dreamed every night of ten-year-old me struggling and screaming in that bar. Dad knelt at my grave daily, consumed by guilt. And Mom, after killing that gambler, threw herself into the same pond where I had drowned.

Finally, they loved me.

But I was already dead.

Lila White never imagined that simply falling in love with someone could lead to losing her home, her father, and almost her life. Her love, humble to the core, still couldn't win his attention.
As time passed and everything came to light, she vaguely realized that she was the only one who thought he didn't love her. But by then, it was already too late.

In the third year of my marriage to Damian Spencer, I accidentally scratched his first love.
For that insignificant little scratch, on the evening of my birthday, he personally brought his bodyguards and cornered me in a damp, cold alley.
Without flinching, he had them crush my right hand—the one that held my bow—bone by bone.
He looked down at me coldly as I slumped in the mud, his voice devoid of any warmth: "Just be a good Mrs. Spencer. You don't need this anymore."
Yet later, this same man caged me in his arms like someone possessed, begging again and again—pleading with me not to forget what we'd been.
But all that met him was my empty gaze—hollow, confused, as if he were no one to me.